


Sick Day

by deadinderry



Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: I'm baaaaaack, because none of you asked for it but i don't CARE, filling up the archive with more of this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 16:48:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21359443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadinderry/pseuds/deadinderry
Summary: Steven's sick, Izzy's bad at compliments.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 38





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> normally i try to rotate between metallica fics & gnr fics but i wanted to play with steven's pov so guess what we get izzy and steven two days in a ROW

It was official: Izzy was way too cool to be hanging around him.

So, Duff and Slash were somewhere, and who the fuck even knew where Axl got off to on his own (and, to be honest, Steven didn’t _care_, especially if he was going to be a asshole (Axhole?), it was _better _if he stayed away, because he didn’t need to get in a fight with Axl today and the way that Axl had been the last time he’d been around had been definite ‘Stevie will probably get in a fight with Axl today’ territory, and so—), and normally, Izzy was a ‘who even fucking knows’, too. But in a less asshole way than Axl—Izzy just had his own shit going on. He didn’t care what you did and he preferred it if you didn’t care what he did. Unlike Axl, who, Steven was pretty sure, liked everyone to know what he was doing and why you weren’t invited.

But Izzy was here.

For. Some reason.

Steven was getting off a pretty bad bout of the flu, and that was why he wasn’t out with Duff and Slash. Normally he’d say fuck it, but he’d spent the last two days puking his guts up every time he moved, and he’d tried to go out yesterday and the day before but each time he’d started puking his guts out like, as soon as he’d stepped out the door, so Duff had practically threatened to chain him to the couch if he tried to come, so he didn’t even try. He watched TV instead.

It sucked being too sick to move, because he was pretty sure that he was going to go stir-crazy, because he _needed _to move. He just _needed _to.

But Izzy was there. After Duff and Slash had left, Izzy had shown up with a bag from the corner store. “Hey,” he said. He had a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, and it made him look even cooler.

“Hi,” Steven said. He tried to smile.

“You’re sick?”

“Yeah. It’s probably contagious.”

“If I get sick, I’m killing you,” Izzy said. He sat down on the couch, his back pressed up against Steven’s knees. He opened up the bag and handed over nighttime cold medicine. “This’ll knock you out pretty good when you decide you want to go to sleep. And it might make it better, too. Unlike the other shit that will knock you out when you decide you want to go to sleep.”

Steven’s smile did widen a little, at that. “Thanks, man,” he said. He set it on the ground. “Are you gonna—are you gonna hang out, for a while?”

Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes.

“Yeah,” Izzy said. He leaned back, a little. “Ain’t got nothing else going on.”

“Slash and Duff went out,” Steven said.

“Yeah, I’m not feeling getting sweated on by about a million fucking losers,” Izzy said. He gave Steven a sideways look. Steven still didn’t really know why Izzy was here, but he wasn’t gonna question it anymore, at least out loud, because he wanted Izzy to stay. He didn’t get to hang out with Izzy one-on-one very often. Especially not when _Izzy _wanted to. He’d crashed Izzy’s place with Slash and Duff before, but at those points, he got the distinct feeling that Izzy would really like to be left alone.

That wasn’t what he was getting, now.

But that was mostly because if Izzy didn’t want to talk to him right now, he could literally just stand up and walk out, and Steven would not really be able to follow.

“Hey, you played really good at our last show,” Izzy said. “I don’t—I don’t think I mentioned that. Except you gotta stop with the random drum solos.”

“I get excited,” Steven said. Still, the fact that Izzy had thought that he’d done a good job made something bloom in the pit of his stomach, and he didn’t think it was puke this time. He thought it was probably validation.

“I mean, they’re good, it’s just like, we gotta get through the setlist.”

Steven shifted, a little. Now he felt bad. Izzy caught the look and grimaced.

“Sorry. I was trying to be nice.”

“You need more practice at that one,” Steven said. “Compliment me more.”

Izzy snorted. “Shit. I already complimented your drumming.”

“Yeah, that’s really all I got,” Steven said.

“No, no, I’ll think of something. Uh. You’ve got good hair. Also, you were really good at teasing it when we did that, how the fuck did you get it that high?”

Steven opened his mouth, but Izzy plowed forward. He was smoking intensely throughout this entire thing, like he was taking this like some sort of assignment instead of Steven, who was, to be completely honest, kind of fever-delirious at this point, just demanding he be complimented.

“Um, you have a lot of chest hair. Like, a lot. Like I’m not sure it’s real. You’re stupid nice. You’re stupid nice and have a good face and the only reason any of the rest of us can ever get any groupies is because they like an asshole, sometimes—”

“Oh, come on—”

“—you have a really good smile.”

Steven paused, because that one had felt almost like—

That one had felt weird. Izzy must have felt it, too, because Steven could see him turning a little red. “I mean,” Izzy said. “You know.”

“No,” Steven said.

“No, what?”

“I don’t know,” Steven said.

Izzy was quiet for a second. “You’re like, super fever-high right now, right? Like, you’re not gonna remember this?”

“I don’t remember half of any shit that ever happens, ever.”

“Yeah, good point,” Izzy said. He was turning redder and redder with every word, and Steven was really hoping that he was going to remember this. “It’s just—okay, your smile is like, it like, raises the temperature in the room like, forty degrees. You know? It like—you smile at someone, and their heart explodes.”

Great, now Steven was feeling like his face was turning red.

“Oh,” Steven said. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ better be.”


End file.
